Sunday, April 22, 2012

Today jr. pooped in his underwear at church. He has been having little "accidents" like this for weeks now, pretty much every single day. I took him to the bathroom and while we were in there, I told him I was going to throw his (old, worn out) underwear in the trash.

"I don't want to carry poopy underwear around for the rest of church!" I
told him. "It stinks! This is what happens when you poop in your
underwear. You get consequences."

He was devastated. He couldn't handle it. "Don't throw my underwear away!" he cried desperately. "Then I won't have enough underwear!" (I couldn't tell him that if he didn't have enough, we'd buy him more, because that would kind of defeat the purpose of the whole thing.)

I just kept repeating myself and it turned into a stand-off. He begged me. He pled with me. He cried and cried, and blocked the door so I couldn't leave the bathroom stall.

Finally he looked up into my eyes with tears in his and said in the sweetest voice,"Please, Mommy? Don't throw them away. Please?"

At that moment, as I looked at my son, a word came to my head: mercy.

Look, I know what you're thinking. Is God really going to inspire you in a bathroom stall where the subject matter is a pair of soiled underwear? But yes, I really think He did.

I like to be tough on my kids when it comes to consequences; I want them to know I mean business. But I found myself silently walking out of the stall, rummaging through my diaper bag for a ziploc, and putting the underwear in it. Then I squatted down eye-level with my little boy and told him I wasn't going to throw them away.

The relief on his face was priceless. I could feel that I had done the right thing. And as we left the bathroom to return to the meeting, he kept repeating, "I love you Mom."

I thought about this experience a lot after that. I thought about how Heavenly Father must feel when I make the same mistake over and over and over again. How many times do I say I'm sorry only to do it again? And how many times do I deserve the full consequences of what I've done?

But the Savior steps in with the whispered word mercy and then takes my hand and lets me have another chance.

Sunday, April 15, 2012

I was browsing Amazon the other day and came across a product that seemed too good to be true. It's called the "Newborn Rock 'n Play Sleeper" and it's kind of like a hammock for babies. It's super portable and just folds up, and it keeps the baby reclined so he sleeps like a rock. Every mom's dream, right? It's even got 4.5 stars -- with 587 people giving it all 5 stars.

My finger started itching to buy it. Finally I'd be able to put the baby down without worrying that his older brothers were going to step all over him in their crazy cavorting. Finally, I'd get a moment of freedom to do the dishes or mop my [really nasty] floor, all while the baby slept peacefully within arm's reach. Maybe he could even sleep in it at night and he'd wake up less often! Yes, visions of sugarplums began to dance in my head.

Then, out of curiosity, I decided to look at the 1-star reviews (there were only 32 of them).

Yikes!

Every single 1-star review that I read told the same sad story: They all talked about how perfectly dreamy the product was at first. Their baby was sleeping through the night and never cried and was happy for hours in the thing... until two months later when they realized that their baby had a HORRIFIC FLAT SPOT ON HER HEAD, and often an acute case of torticollis.

Ding-ding!

Months of physical therapy and lots of $$ to try and fix what could have been prevented in the first place, had they known. And sometimes the consequences are irreversible.

I just find it funny that there is no substitute for being held by your mama. We try every shortcut, every other thing we can think of, and they all have consequences. Put your baby on his tummy, he has an increased risk of SIDS. Put your baby on his back, and he gets a flat head. Put your baby in a swing, in a bouncer, in a carseat, in a hammock, and he develops torticollis.

Or... you could hold your baby. All day long. I guess there's something to be said for the cultures where people strap their babies on their backs and then go out to work in the field.

It's just so dang inconvenient! I am counting the hours until Lincoln has enough neck strength to sit in his Bumbo.

Anyway, let this be a reminder: Don't put your baby in any kind of a seat or bed that encourages her to put pressure on any one part of her head for too long. If your baby starts turning her head more frequently in one direction than the other, encourage her to get equal time looking the other way. Otherwise, your baby just might have to sport this stylin' number:

Monday, April 2, 2012

Still having trouble figuring it out? This next one will make it obvious:

That's right: they are all FAKE BLONDES.

Look, I don't have a problem with blondes. You might say I kinda LOVE them... you know, because I married one and all. I don't have a problem with FAKE blondes either. I really don't. And heck, I don't even have a problem with fake blondes who you can TELL are fake blondes. That would be the pot calling the kettle black, now wouldn't it? (or blond in this case...)

yeah... that's me in high school.

But when you are casting someone for a movie, either cast someone who really IS blond, or keep the dang actor a brunette! They spend millions making these movies and it's the year 2012 and people walk around with computers in their pockets and STILL they haven't figured out how to make a brunette actually look naturally blond.

Do you really expect me to believe that Rosalie, the most beautiful woman/vampire in the world, has to dye her hair (because she is OBVIOUSLY a gorgeous latina woman who will never look right as a blonde)? What about Joseph Smith? Did he find time out of his busy schedule to get his hair dyed once a month? I'm sure Draco Malfoy frequently visits the salon to keep up on his roots. Oh, and give Jessica Alba some blue contacts-- that will convince us for sure that she's a blondie.

But here's the one that really kills me; this is the one that has finally pushed me over the edge:

Tell me in what universe that hair color could ever look natural. Tell me! In a starving, deprived district where there are barely enough resources to keep a bakery going, PEETA feels the need to keep his hair dyed regularly. There was nothing I could tell myself that would allow me to suspend my disbelief long enough not to be distracted by this! Just keep the kid a brunette if you really like the actor, but come on. Come on. Josh thinks it's super silly that this was the only thing I didn't like about the movie, but

doesn't this bother anyone else?

{You know I hated the movie Hanna, but they at least got something right. I didn't even recognize this little actress as the same gal from The City of Ember. Her hair dye job was awesome! Granted, she looks albino now, but job well done. I was totally convinced. They should have her hair stylist do all the movies. Meet Peeta, the albino...}

Sunday, April 1, 2012

I was so excited when we bought our Honda Odyssey minivan last week. FINALLY we would have a way to take the whole family to church or out for a night on the town. It was three years old, but had all the latest gadgets: backup camera, parking sensors, built-in gps, dvd player, pedals that move toward you... you name it.